


A Dance with a Princess

by Beleriandings



Category: The Silmarillion and other histories of Middle-Earth - J. R. R. Tolkien
Genre: Family, Fluff, Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-05-11
Updated: 2014-05-11
Packaged: 2018-01-24 07:08:38
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 518
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1596056
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Beleriandings/pseuds/Beleriandings
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Little princess Idril wants to dance.</p>
            </blockquote>





	A Dance with a Princess

Ñolofinwë sat on a bench at the edge of the dancefloor, watching Turukáno and Elenwë spin slowly amongst the dancers. He smiled a little at the sight of them together, then looked down at the child curled asleep in his on the seat beside him, brushing the golden hair back from her small face. Her brow crinkled a little and she snuffled quietly in her sleep and shifted, one arm thrown out over the edge of the seat. Ñolofinwë reached over to lift her into his lap to stop her falling to the ground, but as he did she woke, yawning and blinking.

“Where did Atya and Ammë go?” Itarillë asked sleepily.

“They went to dance” said Ñolofinwë, stroking her hair again and pointing towards the centre of the ballroom, remembering how Turukáno had been unwilling at first to leave his sleeping daughter. Elenwë, though, had persuaded her husband that Ñolofinwë would take good care of her. (“After all” she had said, looping an arm through Turukáno’s with a smile, “you turned out all right.”  _Elenwë is good for Turukáno_ , Ñolofinwë thought.)

“I want to dance too!” said Itarillë, squirming out of Ñolofinwë’s arms and off the seat, landing on her feet deftly. She grabbed his hand in her much smaller one, tugging on it. “Will you dance with me?”

“It’s late” said Ñolofinwë. “It’s past your bedtime.”

She looked up at him with large, beseeching blue eyes. “Please?”

He sighed. “Well…” he made an act of appearing to consider. “Since it’s a festival day.”

Itarillë hugged him tightly around the waist before dragging him by the tunic, off towards the dancefloor.

“Slow down!” he said, laughing.

She stopped and turned, hands placed impatiently on her hips. “But this song is pretty!”

“Then we must certainly hurry” he agreed, solemnly. “But first, there are certain courtesies that must be observed…” he grinned, then knelt before her and kissed the back of small hand, “Princess, would you grant me the honour of a dance?”

She giggled. “Course! Come on. You’re so silly, Haru.”

He smiled, picking her up and spinning her in the air until she squealed, crossing the distance to the edge of the dance floor in long strides.

He spun her around to the music, her slippered toes barely brushing the floor, shooting a grin at Turukáno and Elenwë as they swirled past.

“There, now I am the envy of everyone at the ball” he said when the song came to an end. “For I danced with the most charming little princess of them all.”

She hugged him again. “Thank you Haru! You’re a good dancer!” she paused a moment, listening to the beginning of the next song. “Can we dance to this one too…?”

He picked her up, ruffling her hair affectionately. “Don’t push your luck little one! It’s long past your bed time.”

Itarillë pouted, but said nothing more, simply wrapping her arms around his shoulders and settling herself more comfortably in his embrace.

By the time they reached the door of the ballroom, she was asleep again, a tiny, contented smile on her face.


End file.
